Heterochromia Iridum
by Blackrazgriz
Summary: It was not supposed to happen. The union between an Uchiha and a Hyūga was supposed to result in the inheritance of either dōjutsu, but not both simultaneously. Yet here, in some backwater village distant from Konohagakure, birthed a child gifted with the power of the Sharingan and the Byakugan.
1. Disaster

He despised getting up in the morning.

Every day was the same monotonous routine; he would awaken grouchily from his pleasant slumber, reluctantly arise from his comfortable bed, crabbily wash his mouth, halfheartedly eat his food, and unenthusiastically depart from his precious home for another day of class.

Oh how he hated this routine.

Of course, his parents supported him all throughout his day. Whenever he refused to get up at the sound of the alarm, his mother would patiently wobble him awake. Whenever he did not feel like washing him mouth or taking a shower, his father would walk into the bathroom, pat him in the back twice (it was always twice, never three times or four) and join him in his morning cleansing. His parents were always there at the dinner table with the brightest smiles, waiting unwearyingly for their child to join them in breakfast.

Not that he did not mind the attention. In fact, he craved it.

Sometimes he would sleep in on purpose, just to have his parents come and wake him up.

It wasn't difficult for his parents to discern false behaviors from real one. Still, they did not fuss whenever their child feigned disinterest.

They knew that he enjoyed their company, and they loved spending as much time as they could with their son.

But despite the fact that he valued the quality and intimate time spent with his beloved parents, the mundane routines he underwent on a day by day basis irked him to a great extent.

Since they ultimately led to the same, undesired end.

School.

The walk to school was okay. Their village was rather small, so it did not take much of his time to leave his house and arrive at the school. As an added bonus, the sights around the village were impeccable. Looking at layer up layer of crops growing from around the fields always filled his mind with curiosity and wonder.

Feeling the breeze on his hair made him feel free, as if the constraints of life held no power on the boy. Walking on the dirt road empowered him, similar to overcoming the strenuous climb of a large mountain. The sounds and sights that he passed along during his daily trek to and from school were some of the highlights of his day, and he always looked forward to detouring around the fields and exploring a bit more than what he usually saw.

His home life was fantastic. His journeys around the village was worthwhile. If he thoroughly enjoyed the time he spent on these simple pleasures, why did he hate waking up to another splendid morning?

It was because of the scorn he felt everyday upon stepping foot on school grounds.

"Oi, demon! Gonna spirit me away with your _freaky _eyes?"

"Man, those eyes are disgusting! Your parents really should just rip them out and replace them with something _normal_."

"Really, why the hell aren't you wearing contacts? Man those eyes are so gross to look at!"

"Neh neh, do you think that if _it_ painted over his eyes _it_ would stop looking like some rat?"

"Seriously, why is _it _looking this direction? Man, I don't wanna get infected by _its_ monstrous disease."

"Freak of nature!"

"Hellspawn!"

"Filthy rodent!"

"Demon!"

"Bakemono!"

"_Monster!_"

Every day he went through such ignominy from his classmates. They did not even bother to be subtle with their stigma. They took pleasure out of ostracizing the poor boy. They stared and laughed, pointed and grunted. They threw rocks at him. They did all that they could to put the boy down. Make him more beneath the beneath than dirt is under the heel of their boots.

And, loathe as he to admit it, it worked.

He was a silent presence. He tried to be invisible by disassociating with any and every one. But that proved futile. Some ignoramus with a fetish for his pain would just walk up to him, hands on hips, and throw some mud at his face. Or a group of girls would giggle uncontrollably when he passed them by. No matter how intent he was at disguising his presence, someone would just reintroduce him to the harsh reality he had grown accustomed to.

He tried appealing to the teachers. He worked extra hard to get good grades so that they could sympathize with his plight. Unfortunately, his instructors were as cold and unforgiving as the children. In fact, they frequently went out of their way to sabotage his good standing at the school. They would deliberately switch out his test with more difficult, practically impossible exams, or they would change his answers so that he would always answer incorrectly.

Still, no matter what form of interference the teachers engaged, he would find a way to come out on top. If anything, he still wanted to impress his parents with his placement in the class.

The kids did not take kindly to his growing success. They increased the destructive insults tenfold, to the point where walking inside a room initiated the class-wide discussion on how grotesque the malformed abomination was. Boys would intentionally push him towards the ground, girls would point, gossip, and giggle at every chance they got, and teacher would ignore him to the best of their abilities, in spite of his higher-than-average grades. Over here, in this detestable school, he was universally reviled.

In the beginning, the isolation hurt him considerably. He would run all the way home after school and cry himself to sleep, making sure to lock the door and close the windows so that no one could hear his despair. But when it became clear that the discrimination would never cease, he just began to tolerate it.

Every shove to the ground, he would just get back up and brush off the dirt.

Every gossip whispered, he would just subconsciously block off.

Every test sabotaged, he would redo over and over again until it was impossible to deny him his rightfully earned credit.

Really, he hated his daily routine. He never wanted to deal with the stigma. He did not want to deal with the imposed isolation. He just wanted to laugh and have fun, enjoy the time spent with friends and teachers.

Cut him some slack. It wasn't his fault that he was born with heterochromia.

He always questioned that fact. His father had a pair of deep, dark onyx eyes while his mother had the most striking pair of milky white eyes. Naturally, he should have gotten one or the other.

But instead, he was born with his left eye blacker than the darkest night and his right eye whiter than the most luminescent star.

His family always complimented his unique condition. They really enjoyed how his eyes could be so contrasting, yet so appealing at the same time. They felt that his eyes were some of the most beautiful they had ever seen before, and they could not have been more proud of him.

The students and faculty in his school had a different opinion in mind.

They found his condition to be disturbing. They could never look him in the eyes when they conversed with him, quickly becoming disgusted with the unnatural sight. To the kids, he looked as though he was blinded in one eye and forced to wear a lazy glass eye. His eyes were not as cool as his father, or as enticing as his mother. They were a grotesque blend of the worst kind.

The glares always got to him though. He tried to ignore the stares coming from apparently everyone in the village, but it was no use. They would sneer at him, stare at him with pity, or look down on him as if he were a whipped dog with his tail tucked beneath his legs.

He tried to wear sunglasses to cover his eyes. They would work during the trek to school every day. Nobody paid any particular attention to the kid with average sunglasses dancing around the road. Some of the folks he passed by would even say hi to him, blissfully unaware of his condition.

But the moment he walked into school, the rules and regulations were slammed on him. No child was allowed to wear hats or sunglasses during school hours, so he was forced to take them off. He would have thought that, if they were so horrified by his heterochromia, they would have allowed him to continue wearing the sunglasses for the rest of the day. But the kids and teachers needed to satisfy some sick sense of vindication, just so that they can boost their rock-bottom self-esteem. It was a pitiable sight, but he could do nothing about the unfairness of his predicament.

The first try he wore his glasses in school, a group of kids surrounded him on his way to lunch. They took turns shoving him around the encirclement, punching or kicking him whenever they felt the need. After they were happy with the damage they caused to him, they pushed him on the ground, snatched his glasses from his head, and stomped on them until they cracked into a thousand tiny pieces. Picking the glass shards from the ground, they threw the remains at him as hard as they could, laughing maniacally in the process.

He was called into the Grandmaster's office after the "hazing." The Grandmaster penalized him for disobeying the school rules, forcing him to clean the classrooms after school was over. He threatened more corporal punishment should he continue this "gross act of insubordination." Predictably, none of the bullies were reprimanded for their acts against him. There was nothing he could do except cry himself to sleep.

His parents, noticing the physical and emotional abuse, tried to reason with the Grandmaster to at least provide justice for those intolerable actions. But he merely reminded them that this was the only elementary school within several miles, and that if they were dissatisfied they could just simply leave. Reluctantly, he held their tongue and looked at their child with hints of melancholy and defeat.

He understood. He forgave them. Really, there was nothing anyone could do pertaining to his predicament. At least they tried. He still loved them for their concern and their efforts. But it only pained him even more how life seemed to take its problems on him and him alone.

Truly, how he hated his mornings.

His family could not simply leave the village. They did not discuss much of their past, but apparently they were "missing-nin" from the shinobi village Konohagakure no Sato. In fact, it was a relief that this village was willing to harbor them from the relentless hunter-nin squads that flooded out of Konoha on a regular basis. They were not willing to sacrifice what little happiness they had so that their son could have a better education.

They knew it was selfish, but they had no other choice. If the hunter-nin had located them, they would kill them on the spot, eradicating all evidence of their existence, including that of their son.

He was fully aware of the danger he was in, so he did not blame his parents. It's funny, but he had always thought that the abuse he was dealing with was infinitely better than being killed and having his existence written of the memories of everyone he knew. He couldn't understand why he held on to such naïve optimism, but it was a comforting thought in the face of the entire stigma he was faced with. Yes. In spite of all of the problems he dealt with, he held firm to the belief that one day, everything will get better.

Or, at least that's what he hoped would happen.

Nothing particularly interesting occurred during his walk to school. The weather was wonderful for the start of summer, with trees in full bloom and the heat skyrocketing with each passing day. He could feel his sweat drop from his forehead down to his chin, but he just let the perspiration slide. He wasn't particularly fond of wiping the sweat out of his brow, even if it rolled down to some of his more sensitive parts of his face, like underneath his nostril.

It was his hair that he was worried about. His shoulder length, silky smooth black hair was prone to frizzling as the temperature increased. He would rather not his appearance be unkempt, in the vague likelihood that someone does take an interest in him other than bullying or harassment. So, as much as he dreaded it, he hurried to school as quickly as he could to spend the least amount of time outdoors.

He arrived at school a little earlier than he had planned. He always came to school just as the morning bells rang, so that he could avoid spending anytime with potential assholes hounding his every move. Quietly, he prayed that he would be blessed by Lady Fortune to escape his morning scorning. But, as luck would have it, he was caught by three such individuals.

"Hey Bakemono, where do you think you're goin'?" The leader of the group asked.

"N-nowhere sir," The boy answered. He found that rubbing their inflated sense of self-worth tended to lessen whatever punishment was in store for him, and as an opportunistic young boy, he took whatever chance he had to diminish the suffering he had to go through.

"See, now that's where you are wrong." The leader corrected the boy. "What you were _about_-" One of the boys kicked his knee in, forcing him to bend towards the leader. "-to do was-" Another boy grabbed his head and slammed it hard on the ground, making sure the boy could see nothing but the rotting shoes of his oppressors. "-give me and me boys a proper shoe shinin'!"

The three boys laughed and clapped each other with a sense of victory. They were looking very much forward to what was in store for today.

"Pardon my observation, _sir,_" The boy hissed, adding not-so-subtle sarcasm to the way he referred to his oppressors. "But from where I could see things, your shoes look perfectly clean."

That smart comment got him a kick in his eye. Blood trailed down his face from his cream-colored eyes as the sclera was growing tinted red from a potentially busted blood vessel. The boy did not cry out in pain; no he was too used to this brutality to let something so small as a popped blood vessel hurt him.

"Oi," The leader said, tapping his feet on the ground. "I don't mean to make your fuckin' disgusting eyes even more hideous—er, strike that I'd take great pleasure in makin' you look more like a demon—but me and the boys don't take too kindly to smart-alecks." The leader said while chuckling at the boy's expense. "But, now _would you look at that!_ My fuckin' shoes are covered in your fuckin' blood! Goodness, mama spent _hours_ washin' these shoes yesterday. I think you owe me an apology."

"I'm dreadfully sorry sir," The boy said. 'That your mom is a cock-sucking whore whose flappy vagina can't satisfy any man, and that her stupidity caused her to drop you in fucking head when you were born. You must've cracked your skull when you hit the ground and now you have bone fragments scatter all over your puny brain! Maybe that's why you are a fucking retard. Damn, you are such a piece of fucking cow turd, getting off on clean shoes. Freak…'

"If it would please you, I will diligently clean your shoes and write a letter of apology to your mom afterwards, profusely apologizing for any trouble that I have caused you."

"See, that's why I _like _you…" The leader retorted. The boys around him joined in the laughter at the irony behind his words. "You're a quiet, obedient little freak, aren't you? I don't see why people treat you so badly."

'Go fucking stab yourself with a rusted spoon in front of a mirror you degenerate prick.'

"Now then," The leader said, cueing the bully grabbing his head to lift it slightly. "_Get to cleaning…_"

The leader held his shoe up towards the boy's face. It was a putrid sight to say the least, but the boy was in no position to argue. With a bloodied eye and two boys holding him down, the only thing he could do was submit.

As he licked his own blood off the shoe of his despots, he lamented his lack of power. There was nothing he could do to get himself out of this predicament. If only he was a bit stronger… If only he could fight and defeat the leader. Alas, even if he could, he knew that would not break the mold already established in the school. It will only serve to enhance and strengthen the stigma he felt on a daily basis. The kids and the teachers were very envious of his capabilities, and they did anything they could to stunt his growth.

If, somehow, he had gained the power to rise up and refuse these punishments, he would still fail in the process. The entire school was out to get him, not just individual groups or people. He could not possibly fight everyone that wronged him, and even if he could, the repercussions against his family would be catastrophic. They would potentially be exiled from the village, forced to continue they senseless flight from the hunter-nin.

Thinking of that possibility, he remembered a crucial detail. His parents came from a shinobi village, right? Shouldn't that make them…well…shinobi? If that were the case, maybe they could teach him a few self-defense techniques! Yeah, maybe that way he wouldn't be as horribly humiliated as he was right now!

The thought pleased him very much, and he rapidly finished cleaning the rest of the leader's shoes.

"Oh, finished already?" The leader said. "Mighty impressive, aren't ya bakemono?" He began to walk away from the boy, while the other two bullies pressured him closer to the ground. It was practically impossible to move from his position, so there was nothing he could do but stare in confusion at what the leader had planned.

"Sad thing is though…" The leader said, growing a malicious smile on his mouth. He stopped in front of a small mud puddle.

'Oh no…' The boy thought in horror, quickly connecting the dots.

The leader proceeded to jump enthusiastically throughout the mud pile. He jumped energetically, stomping when hard on the ground and making sure to cover every aspect of his shoe in the vilest muck. When he was done, he walked slowly and triumphantly back towards the boy.

"…Ya missed a spot." He said laughing at the pained face the boy was expressing. The two other bullies repeated what the leader had done, also defiling their shoes in the most grotesque way imaginable. The leader himself pinned the boy down to the ground with his muddied shoes, continuing to laugh at the boys suffering with an inhumane amount of twisted glee.

When the bullies were finished, they kicked the boy around the ground as hard as they could. The boy, in an attempt to stave off the pain, covered his ribs with his arms. But they kicked him everywhere, including his face and genitalia. Satisfied at the pain they caused, the boys brought forth their shoes to his face. It was absolutely disgusting; there were even flies flying around the mud of their shoes.

"Oi!" The leader said, kicking the boy on the head. "No slackin' off! Get to it!"

Coughing his lingering pain away, the boy grudgingly licked the mud off his oppressors' shoes. The horrendous stench and the awful taste of the mud only added to the misery of this moment, but the boy pressed on.

'It's not gonna last forever. It's not gonna last forever. It's not gonna last forever. It's not gonna last forever.'

He repeated these thoughts over and over again while he licked off the remaining mud from the bullies' shoes. Really, the possibility of a better tomorrow was the only solace he had during these dark times. There were many times in his childhood where he just wanted to give up. To just end it all.

But he persevered. 'Whatever doesn't kill you can only make you stronger…' He wanted to believe. Unfortunately, life did not particularly work like that.

He hated his eyes. If he was born with his father's onyx eyes or his mother's cream eyes, then maybe things would have been fine. Why…why was he burdened with this unnatural condition?

Several minutes of this gruesome tribulation passed, and finally the shoes of all three of the bullies were bright and shiny (well, as bright and shiny as any spit shiners could possibly make them). The bullies were inspecting the work that he put into cleaning their shoes. Of course, it was not satisfactory. But, as they had little time to continue toying with the demonic boy, they decided that enough was enough…for now.

"Bakemono, this was a shitty job." The boy said in a disgruntled voice. He kicked the boy's shoulder, causing the boy to fall flat on his face. "…But this will have to do…for now. Better make sure I let mama know that the demon brat took a shit on my shoes or something, I'm sure she'll believe it. Hahahahaha!"

The bullies walked away from the quivering boy, laughing and praising each other for another job well done. This had surely been a pleasant morning for the three of them, and they could not wait until after school. If the monster knew any better, then he would not be running from the retribution they had planned for him later today.

The boy just sat still, contemplating on all the things that went wrong in his life up until this point.

Gods, if it wasn't made apparent before, it should be now.

He fucking hated this morning routine.

"…are various ways a mutation can occur within an organism. Oh?" The teacher noticed the boy walking in late for class. "Uchiha Ishoku-san, you are late for class. I hope you know the consequences of your actions. You will meet with the Grandmaster after school to discuss further penalization. Now, get to your seat."

Yes. Never mind the fact that the boy was walking into class with dirt-ridden, muddied clothing, dry blood staining his face, red sclera from a popped blood vessel, and a growing black eye from being kicked brutally. The most obvious fact his teacher paid attention to was his tardiness. Grumpily, he rushed to his seat at the back of the classroom, blocking out the sound of all of the children's laughter. He tucked his head between his arms and tried ever so desperately to fall asleep. It wasn't like his teacher actually cared. Besides, rest was pivotal to recover from trauma such as this.

"Mutations can occur from damage to DNA or to RNA sequences, faults during the process of replication, or from spontaneous insertion or deletion of certain segments of DNA by mobile genetic elements. Most mutations that occur within an organism are nonthreatening, or it may have happened in Junk DNA segments, DNA segments that are not vital towards maintaining life processes." The teacher lectured. The boy, whose name was Ishoku, was rather curious about today's lecture. He did not know what brought about the topic of genetic mutation for today's class (he probably would have if his bullies weren't such assholes today), but maybe it had something to do with his condition.

"Many of the mutations that befall an organism inhibit their ability to perform efficiently. For instance, the hereditary disease sickle cell anemia mutates the form of red blood cells within a human from rounded to 'sickle' shaped, hence the name. The sickle cell, due to its malformed shape, can potentially cause congested traffic within the blood stream, preventing blood cells from travelling to other organs in the body."

Hmm, maybe that's what Ishoku was suffering from. A malignant mutation that somehow hindered his ability to form and maintain meaningful human relations. No, that doesn't seem correct. A mutation that change his eye color shouldn't cause such a radical transformation of his peers' opinion on him.

"However, there are some mutations that occur in nature that proves to be beneficial to the organism in general. Mutations such as changing the beak shape in certain birds so that reaching for food in difficult locales prove sufficiently easier are examples of advantageous mutations. When advantageous mutations are passed down from parent to offspring in the span of several generations, the process of evolution takes place. Of course, evolution is a topic that is somewhat different from the topic we are discussing, so that will be saved for a later time."

Could…could his heterochromia be a benign mutation? If so, why haven't the effects shown itself yet? No, that did not seem like a plausible explanation for his misfortune, either. Maybe he's just naturally unlucky.

"Sensei! Does this mean that Uchiha-san's freaky eyes are one of these 'mutations' you speak of?"

Ah, the unspoken question. Ishoku was silently grateful to whoever asked that question. He certainly wasn't. He hated bring unnecessary attention to himself. It only led to pain, misery, or further misfortune.

"Uchiha-san's _condition _cannot possibly be compared in the same realm of existence as the rest of us humans." The teacher explained coldly. "An abomination such as he does not deserve to undergo the same biological processes as us normal people. Certainly, the closest organism he could relate to are fiends or monsters. In fact, that explanation could do his pitiful presence some justice."

The class roared into laughter, referring to Ishoku as "bakemono" or "demon." Ishoku dug his head further into his arms, trying to return to the slumber that he was denied due to the intrigue of the topic at hand. Why did he even bother? To everyone else, he was a thing. An _it_. According to everyone, he did not deserve to be classified in the same category as other humans. He was a plague, an atrocity, a vile curse brought forth to this village by unknown higher powers to rain calamities on their children and their crops.

His tolerance was wearing thin. He loved and respected his parents decision to remain in the village, if only to survive. But his sanity was slowly being drained. He did not know how much longer he could deal with the exclusion and the isolation before he snapped.

The rest of the day went as smooth as smooth could get in Ishoku's life. Children threw mud and rocks at him when he passed by. Children laughed at him, calling him insults after insults to belittle his existence. Teachers ignored him, or mocked him in a similar fashion as his biology teacher. He counted his luck that punishments like earlier this morning did not happen for the rest of the day, so that was a victory in its own right.

He saw the Grandmaster after school to accept his unjustly earned punishment. After the sunglasses incident, every time he was called to the Grandmaster, he received a brutal flogging. The Grandmaster was a sick man, dressing in tight leather for every whipping. With each instance of Ishoku's referral to the Grandmaster's office, the duration of the flogging increased by one minute. So he needed to deal with 37 minutes worth of stinging pain.

The children enjoyed giving false reports to his teachers about wrongdoings he did not commit. Some of the kids stayed after school to see their demented Grandmaster at work, bringing down the whip on Ishoku's back. Each whiplash stung more sharply than the last, yet not once did Ishoku cry out in agony. The humiliation, the pain, the isolation, the false accusations, the laughter, the ridicule, the sorrow, everything that Ishoku went through in this school he was already used to. It was just another horrible school day to him.

And it would all get better when he returned home.

His parents would quickly address all of the wounds he accumulated throughout the day, making sure to be tender as the applied medicine or emergency first-aid. Ishoku enjoyed the warmth he felt from his parents as they lovingly embraced their child, whispering optimistic praises into his ears, trying their hardest to make him forget the pain of today and look forward to the wonders of tomorrow.

His parents were the only people that could see how much the pain truly affected him. They were the only ones he allowed to see his tears, to hear him scream in frustration at yet another day of discrimination. They were the only ones to see how truly fragile Ishoku was. They saw his mask crumble into a thousand pieces the moment he walked in. And they would help him collect all of the shards so that they can recreate the mask. Prepare him for another day of anguish and grief. All in hope that things would get better.

Ishoku eagerly rushed home, excited to finally be out of that hellhole called "school." He was ecstatic that he managed to survive another day without breaking into the pressure or going insane from the exclusion. To him, that was another victory. An accomplishment he could be proud of. He ignored the stinging pain from the flogging or the blurry vision from the kick to his eye, moving faster and more upbeat with each step he took.

He may have hated the mornings, but he absolutely loved the afternoons.

"I'm home!" Ishoku gleefully announced, removing his shoes and placing them on the cabinet.

He waited a couple of seconds. No response. That's odd…

"I'm home!" Ishoku yelled again. Still no response. Unusual…his mom would typically reply with "Welcome home," or something along those lines.

"Otou-san? Okaa-san?" Ishoku called out to his parents. No answer. Ishoku grew more worried, increasing the frequency in which he called out to his parents. 'Maybe they are still working out on the fields?' He thought. No, he knew they would have completed their work by the time Ishoku returned home. Besides, he could smell the fragrance of dinner coming from the kitchen. 'They could be at the neighbors?' Ishoku thought again. No, that was unrealistic. His neighbors ostracized his family shortly after Ishoku's birth. There was no way that his parents could be with their neighbors. 'Business with the mayor?' Yeah, that seems like a plausible explanation—

He heard the crash of a vase on cold pavement. Alert to the sudden noise, Ishoku rushed to the living room, where he was positive the noise had come from.

"Okaa-san, Otou-san!" Ishoku hurried into the living room before freezing in place.

There was blood everywhere.

It seemed completely odd, as there were no signs of a struggle inside the living room. With the sole exception of the broken vase, the living room looked to have been virtually unchanged from when he left for school in the morning. None of the paintings were turned or torn down. The couch did not even shift slightly. The lamp and the chandelier were in place. Everything seemed to be fine.

Except for all of the blood that smeared the room in a dark coating of red.

In the center of the room laid his parents, tossed around like the corpse of a pig after the slaughterhouse. Their underside was drenched in blood from the puddle that was leaking out from their grievous wounds. Their expressions were…sick to say the least. Pale from the loss of blood, their screaming faces looked remarkably similar to ghosts from the stories Ishoku heard as a child.

Ishoku lost all of his strength, collapsing to the ground from his weakened knees. He was stunned silent, unsure of what to do at this moment. His parents laid dead before him, soaking in the blood of their decaying carcasses. Yet, Ishoku did not scream. He did not cry. He just sat there, kneeling with his hands on the ground, trembling from the fact that _his parents were dead._

And, in the middle of it all, was the assailant. He did not even bother to flee from the scene of the crime. He sat atop the couch, with an apathetic expression on his face.

His dark, high-collared shirt and flak jacket gave him the appearance of a shinobi. Unlike the furniture surrounding him, he was not covered in blood. Not like the tantō he was playing with in his hand. The blade of the tantō was dripping blood atop his mother's corpse. For a moment, the man did not register Ishoku in his state of grieving, but after a while of having a bored look on his face, he finally spoke to the boy.

"Hello Ishoku-san." The man said, his red eyes spinning wildly. "I apologize for the state of disorder I have left your house in."

In that moment, the world before Ishoku became vastly more clearer.

* * *

**Hey Y'all!**

**Happy One Year Anniversary Blackrazgriz!**

**I present to you my side-project, _Heterochromia Iridum._**

**I will work on this story every Saturday. I'll release chapters when I have completed them and edited them suitably.**

**Of course, this chapter wasn't edited. I'll edit the chapter within the next couple of weeks and rerelease it at a later time.**

**But for now, enjoy this story of a male OC. I know, not my style right? Well, I got tired of writing female OCs so here's a welcome change.**

**Also, there will be relatively little Author's Notes. Yes, I will post updates on the story's progression on the top of the chapter, but no Author's Notes. I feel like I reveal a lot of vital material to the story within these notes.**

**I'll only post Author's Notes when news concerning the state of this story needs to be revealed.**

**So once again, enjoy the story, and I will see you later.**

**-Blackrazgriz 4/15/2014 12:11PM EST**


	2. Desperation

Chapter 2: Desperation

"Hello Ishoku-san." The man said, his red eyes spinning wildly. "I apologize for the state of disorder I have left your house in."

Ishoku looked around in horror as the harsh realization of the events that transpired here finally took hold of the frail boy's psyche.

His mom and dad were murdered in cold-blood, and the murderer decided to stick around and wait for his next victim to prance around merrily and unsuspectingly.

As the reality of what happened tightened its grip on Ishoku, he gained an epiphany on what is going to occur next.

He was going to die. Not even 8 years old yet, and he was going to be killed.

He was expecting to have been murdered brutally by an insane mob gathering in front of the school. In spite of the frequent warnings, it never really did cross his mind that a hunter-nin would actually _come _to the village and kill his entire family.

Ishoku accepted his inevitable demise. He made peace within himself, a little grateful that his nightmarish life was coming to an end.

Yet, he could not help but shiver in fear as he stared death in the face.

The man…er, boy, looked a little like his father. Under his eyes, the boy had very pronounced tear-troughs, either a sign of an aged appearance or a life filled with stress. Ishoku would have placed his bets on the latter, had it not been for the gentle look of his eyes in contrast to the wildly spinning blood-red irises. The boy could hide his intentions very well under the guise of a metaphorical mask. Whether or not he was an insane sociopath hell on killing off everything or everyone, or a silent introvert with propensities towards gruesome violence, Ishoku could not tell off first glance.

He wore shinobi attire designed for Konoha's ANBU division. He knew this information based on the stories his parents often told at the dinner table, and from newspaper articles and magazines he snuck from the local library. He had a high-collared, short sleeve black shirt with matching pants, arm guards, and a grey flak jacket. His clothing appeared to be damaged from countless days of continuous wear. If he was indeed a hunter-nin, he probably would have looked a little more cleaner, considering the fact that it only takes a couple of days to reach Konoha on foot.

Ishoku did not know why he was analyzing every aspect of the boy. But he discovered that he could not forget any minor feature that he laid eyes on. In fact, this entire scene was imprinted into his memories, and the more he thought about his reaper, the more the images would flash before his eyes. He noticed every subtle movement now, from the way the boy tapped his left index finger on the shuriken holster taped over his left thigh rhythmically, or even the lice that crawled around the carpeting. He was not even paying any attention to the floor; his peripheral vision was mysteriously enhanced, allowing him to take more careful notice of everything that happened in the house.

Maybe his newfound insight could provide him with a means to escape! Yeah, that would definitely be his best option at this point. Carefully take two steps back, pretend that you are afraid of him…

"Your feeble attempts at escape are not going to work, Ishoku-san." The boy said again.

Ishoku froze in place. How did he—

"I have the same gift as you do, Ishoku-san." The boy said. "The Sharingan grants the user enhanced perception on the environment, one that would normally be unreadable by the naked eye."

Sharin-what?

"I can see your chakra flow, Ishoku-san. It's steadily increasing in speed, indicating tension on the limbs. I can count how often you are exhaling, and can determine your state of nervousness from the sweat that's gradually accumulating on your brow."

A sweat droplet rolled down Ishoku's face as he—wait, how did he know this? Could he really read Ishoku's every move?

The boy stood up from the couch in a fashion meant to promote fear and anxiety. The gentle look on his face morphed into a menacing gaze that threatened to tear Ishoku apart from the outside. His fears grew uncontrollable the closer the boy walked towards Ishoku. He never felt this way before with the children in his Academy, or with the teachers or the Grandmaster. He had better control of his emotions in that dreaded "learning environment." But here…

He felt a wet tinkle slide down his legs. He did not even want to think about what that—

The boy grabbed onto Ishoku's hair harshly, slamming his face on the wall. The mirror that was hanging on the walk cracked, slicing Ishoku and causing him to bleed. Ishoku was now terrified. He was going to die! He was going to die…he was going to die…he was going to…

The boy lifted Ishoku's face and grabbed his cheek, forcing him to see the cracked mirror. Forcing him to see his horrendous features. Ishoku hated looking at the mirror. He hated seeing his black and white irises staring back at him with a bored expression. It was a constant reminder of the iniquitous conditions he involuntarily lived under. If only he was born with a normal set of eyes. Not this white and red abomination!

Wait…red?

"Do you realize it now, Ishoku-san?" The boy said, cutting his thoughts. "You have awakened the second stage of your Sharingan, the kekkei genkai of the Uchiha clan. This is undeniable proof that you are indeed an Uchiha, not just some anonymous child sharing the same surname. You and I are a part of the same clan, Ishoku-san. I share the same gifts that you possess."

Wait…what was he saying? Yeah, he knew he was an Uchiha. Duh. His name was Uchiha Ishoku, after all. But…he was a part of a clan? What nonsense was this guy spewing? They were related? Are they brethren or something? Because that would be insane. It would not answer the unspoken question. The question of…

"…Why?" Ishoku mumbled out, his mouth accidently taking in a bit of blood from his forehead.

"I was merely cleaning the filth." The boy answered, dropping Ishoku from the wall. Ishoku landed on a small table, breaking the table in half and causing further exterior damage to his body. "The Uchiha are a plague to this society. Grossly obsolete ideals and a tendency to seek ultra-violent solutions to their problems. Arrogant to a fault, and completely unable to empathize with other, lesser clans. The Uchiha are a contamination that needed to be annihilated post-haste, so I did the world a favor."

"W…what do you mean?"

"I killed off the entire clan. Everyone, Ishoku-san. Down to the infant."

He was going to die. Definitely.

This was the utterance of a narcissistic megalomaniac who got aroused off the pain and suffering of others. The shit this boy was saying to him was merely the icing on the cake. When the boy stabbed that tantō into Ishoku's shivering body, he wondered what kind of orgasmic inducing face the boy was going to make.

"Of course, it was not feasible to kill off every single Uchiha in Konohagakure no Sato. Some of them were currently engaged in missions that required an extended leave of absence from the village…and others were missing-nin, such as your father."

"My father…is not a plague!" Ishoku screamed at the top of his lungs, defying the pain he was currently feeling.

He jerked under the pressure of the boy's hand grabbing him by the throat. He could feel his airways being cut as the boy clenched tighter and tighter. He struggled in vain to remove the boy's hand from his throat. The boy held such unrestrained ire in his eyes, as if Ishoku had said something completely wrong.

"Your father was an Uchiha! From the moment that he took his first breath, he was destined to lead this world to the brink of implosion. I did him a _favor _when I took his life."

Ishoku's head was feeling very light. He couldn't handle it anymore. Finally, he was going to join his father and mother in the afterlife. Anything was better than staying another second with this psychotic asshole, or the problem children in his school.

He was slammed back first on the wall again, opposite of where he once was. Ishoku coughed madly, trying to regain all of the air he was denied during his asphyxiation.

"You would not understand, Ishoku-san. You've been living here, in this village, presumably being ostracized because of your condition. You've lived a sheltered life, completely ignorant of what truly goes on in this world of ours."

The boy grabbed Ishoku by the collar of his shirt. "You wouldn't understand the pain of a 4 year old child crying over the body of his innocent mother because the mission specifications were vague and inconclusive, and you were forced to kill that child in cold blood in order to 'prevent any witness.' You wouldn't understand what it's like to watch your best friend rip his only remaining eye asunder, trusting you with the future of his village and clan, and then subsequently killing himself!"

He let go of the boy's collar and walked around the living room. "I've killed many people, Ishoku-san. Missions to intercept rival ANBU agencies. Missions to eradicate entire villages. Missions to infiltrate the most fortified strongholds and assassinate VIP targets. Some of these missions having mortality rates of 95%. All in the name of my village. All in the name of my clan. A clan who then proceeded to look at me as if I were just another tool to use in their bitter hatred against Konoha. No, you wouldn't understand any of that."

Ishoku continued to tremble in front of the boy, unsure of what laid in his future. He was absolutely positive that it was death, but the boy continued to prolong his demise for some self-righteous ranting on the flaws of some system he could care less about.

"Do you know how old I am, Ishoku-san?"

Ishoku, in fear for his life did not answer the question.

"I'm thirteen. My birthday's in a couple of more days actually. Can you not believe it, Ishoku-san? A thirteen year old, killing off his entire family. Normally, it would be baffling. I probably would be staring at me the same way you are currently looking at me. Fear…_dread_…lacing my eyes. But that's the world we live in, Ishoku-san. A world where my family is better off annihilated, and where I travel all over to clean up the remaining scum."

"Why…"

"Hmm?"

"If the Uchiha were a parasite to be killed off from the world…WHY DID MY MOM HAVE TO DIE?!"

He knew that his father was one of these "Uchiha" characters this boy had ranted about. But he also knew that his mom was not really an Uchiha. She never did talk about what her heritage was. She happily accepted the Uchiha surname upon getting married, and was equally joyful when she renounced use of her maiden name.

But her features were vastly different from his father and this boy in front of him. She had lavender hair and milky skin to compliment her ivory eyes. His father had jet black shoulder length hair and a deeper skin complexion than his mother, along with black eyes that seemed to hide his pupils.

She was no Uchiha. She didn't deserve to be wiped clean from the earth.

So then…why did she have to die?

"I didn't want to kill her."

'Don't make me laugh.' Ishoku thought in sarcasm.

"That look on your face…you don't believe me."

How did he—

"Sharingan. I can read you expressions and predict your emotions and actions. In a sense, I know what you are thinking based off the muscle tension coming from your face and body."

Oh. Those red eyes that frightened him to no end.

"Regardless, your mother was not supposed to die. I came here only for your father, and I would have preferred avoiding a scene. But your mother was hysterical. Sobbing over his corpse whispering 'why, why…' over and over again. I did not desire to kill your mom, Ishoku-san. But she wanted to kill me. Grabbing the nearest sharp object, she tried to ram me through my throat."

Ishoku clenched the carpeting underneath him to bide off his anger. This man was insane, no doubt.

"Quite frankly, I'm surprised that you haven't tried your luck and attempted to kill me."

"Heh. Quite frankly, I'm surprised I'm not dead yet."

"In time, Ishoku-san. We all die with time. It is unavoidable."

This confirmed it. He was going to die, right here, probably right now. Dammit, why did the boy continue to postpone Ishoku's death? It was agonizing not knowing when the fatal slash would come and clean out his jugular of all the blood that flowed through it?

"Hey," Ishoku began, a thought springing up in his mind. "If you killed off all the Uchiha because they were 'plagues of the earth,' why haven't you offed yourself yet?

"I did not kill every single member of the Uchiha clan. I did leave one person alive."

"So? Why aren't you six feet under?"

"That person…he will be the one to end my life. He will atone for the sins committed by my clan by killing me. That is why I am not dead yet."

"Couldn't there have been some other way?! Why'd you have to kill my father, my mother… why'd you have to kill them?! They…they did nothing wrong… THEY WERE GOOD FUCKING PEOPLE!"

"Do not make me repeat myself Ishoku-san. I have stated my reasons far enough. You should have it engrained in your memory by now."

"Oh, you mean the memory that won't fucking matter in the next couple of minutes? The memory that's gonna wipe with me body the moment you stab that tantō of yours through my brain?"

Faster than the eye can follow, even for Ishoku's heightened perception, the boy held his tantō in front of Ishoku's eyes. The blade was mere millimeters from piercing through his skull and ending his life. Ishoku's perspiration overflowed, and he started to sweat uncontrollably. Why was this boy not killing him already?

"Ishoku-san, if I wanted to kill you, you would have been dead by now. Surely you don't believe there is any reason for a shinobi of my caliber to converse with a villager like you, do you?"

Ishoku collapsed to his knees. The tears welled in his eyes, seeking release. Once again, he asked himself why everything that happened to him had to be so awful. Why did he exist, just so that his existence could be stained over by the likes of cruel, heartless people like this boy and his classmates? Why was he still breathing?!

"…Your existence has more value to it alive then dead." The boy said. "That is why I haven't opted to end you right now."

"Why…why me…?"

"You symbolize the union between two conflicting factions. You represent the results of what can occur when people filled with hatred set aside their differences and seek mutual understanding. Killing you now would undermine the years of isolation your father and mother had suffered through to keep you alive and healthy. Therefore, your life has value. In my mercy, I have judged you to be an Uchiha undeserving of the fate of the clan."

"WHY. ME? Stop beating around the bush! My father was a great man! He should have been saved too! If anything, he deserves to live, not me!"

"This conversation has gone far too long for my taste." The boy said. "It appears that you are adamant on denying your own utility in the long term goal of promoting peace."

He approached Ishoku, who cowered away in fear. Although the boy had made clear his intent on allowing Ishoku to live, he still exuded an intimidating presence, if only for the intense gaze he held. Speaking of gaze, his red eyes morphed into a radically different shape. The tomoe surrounding his pupil had combined to create a three-pronged pinwheel. If his blood red eyes had inspired fear into Ishoku's heart, this new form petrified him in sheer terror.

"It's time I put you to rest. Enjoy your evening, Ishoku-san. And once again, I apologize for the state of disrepair I you're your home in."

The pinwheel rotated rapidly, lulling Ishoku into a state of trance. The memories burned into his brain by his newfound perception began to whiten away as everything turned black…

…

…

…

Ishoku's eyes opened abruptly.

'Ugh. How long have I been out…?' Ishoku wondered.

The first thing he noticed upon waking up was the revolting smell that permeated the room. The smell was a mix between a person soiling themselves and rotten cheese. It did not take long for Ishoku to realize what exactly he smelled.

It was the decomposing corpse of his parents.

Ishoku could not hold the smell any longer. Immediately he emptied out (yesterday's?) contents on the rug. The vomit was then mixed with the salty tears Ishoku was shedding when he came to terms with the reality.

He was all alone. His parents were killed, left to rot away in his living room, and nobody could now support him.

As the son of nukenin, his immediate family was the only kin he actually knew. His family could not afford the luxury of mailing their home village in fear of having their mail traced and suddenly awakening in the middle of the night to the knocks of their executioners. Not that it really mattered. They came anyways.

Ishoku slammed his fist to the ground. Why didn't that Uchiha bastard kill him? The sadistic prick just left him to fend for himself against the unjust assholes that call themselves human in this hellhole far from the quietest sanctuary. If they were a part of the same clan like he said, why didn't he just take him along for the ride?

Oh, right. He killed them. He's probably going around killing all the rest of the Uchiha that were not home when he began his deranged genocide.

But he left Ishoku alive. Something about "symbolizing peace," or whatever bullshit he managed to convince himself. Whatever helps him sleep at night.

No matter what Ishoku thought, it still left him with the biggest issue currently facing him: he had no home. Although his parents owned the house they lived in, they were his primary caretakers. They fed him, clothed him, and kept him alive for as long as he was breathing. Now that they were gone, what was he going to do?

What can an 8 year old boy do with no money, no skills, and despised across the board as some miscreant demon? He could always get adopted by some benevolent old people living in this village. No, that was not going to happen any time soon. Not only did people deplore his very existence, but they did everything in their power to remind him that he was beneath even the worms crawling in the dirt.

If anybody were to have adopted the boy, they would probably beat him every single day within an inch of his life. Of course, they wouldn't kill him. They took sadistic pleasure in his suffering, so no wonder they would kill him. It made them feel more powerful than they actually were.

There was no way Ishoku would want to live with anyone in this village. He'd rather kill himself.

'Hmm…that is another option…' Ishoku thought. No, his parents would not want him to kill himself. The concept seemed corny and cheesy, but now that they were dead, he wanted to, at the very least, honor their fallen memory. They left their home village because of…because of…

Why did they leave the village?

It was because they were nukenin, right?

But why did they go rogue?

Ishoku had fervently told that boy that his parents were never in the wrong; that they were good people who did not deserve to die. But if they were nukenin, that must mean that they had did something _really _bad, right? Why else would they have to flee from the safety and comfort of their home village?

Ishoku shook these thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time to have doubts about the integrity of his parents. Besides, they only wished for the best of him. They raised him to be morally sensitive and empathetic, despite the daily repression. They were the reason he looked into the future with nothing but optimism brimming in his eyes. No matter what they did to get cast away from Konoha, it would not deter from the love and pride he felt towards his selfless and compassionate parents.

While he thought of his parents, a sudden burst of brilliant epiphany struck him.

What about going to Konoha?

Yeah, that seemed like a plausible idea. His parents had him while they were living in the village. That meant that, if they were not being secretly monitored by stealthy ninja, they should not know of his existence. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could even be accepted into an apprenticeship with a shinobi! Finally, an opportunity to grow stronger!

…Except, he did not know where he was going to live when he actually arrived at Konoha…

He knew that he was an Uchiha. He inherited his surname from his father, and the boy had verified his lineage; told him that he had the "Sharingan" or something insane along those lines. But the Uchiha was a recently extinct clan. So he had no family from his father's side ask for assistance.

But what about his mother?

His mother never, ever talked about her life in the village. In fact, she always wore a bandanna over her forehead to cover some tattoo. He saw the tattoo when he was accidently peeking on her while she took a shower.

…What? Ishoku didn't know any better. His curiosity got the better of him.

She had a really wondrous design etched onto her forehead. It was the manji symbol, a symbol for goodness and grace. Ishoku had wondered why she did not flaunt her lovely mark to the rest of the world.

Maybe that mark was unique? Maybe it was a hint to what her clan could be…

Ishoku walked towards the bodies of his parents. Carefully, as to not further damage their corpse, Ishoku braved the horrendous odor and examined his mother. What he saw surprised and horrified him.

Her forehead was wiped clean of any symbol that used to belong there. What's worse was that her milky white eyes, once the most beautiful orbs Ishoku had ever laid his sights on, were a dread greyish color. Her eyes appeared to have caved in itself, taking the grotesque appearance that now stared down at Ishoku.

Just what exactly happened here (last evening?)? It hurt Ishoku to even think about what actually occurred before he walked into the nightmarish land this house became.

He wasn't going to find any information regarding his mother's background from merely looking at her defiled corpse. He'll probably have to go through her identification papers in her room.

Before he started anything, he needed to go and give his parents a proper burial. Leaving them to rot in the living room would be a gross disrespect to everything they had done over the last couple of years. Besides, the odor was growing eerily worse as the seconds pass by. Ishoku did not want to vomit again from the smell.

He steeled himself against the smell by tightening a scarf over his mouth and nose. The aroma of woolen fabric would filter out the smell of death and decay, hopefully making his work a little easier and bearable.

Just as he was about to drag his father's body to their backyard, the doorbell rang.

'Shit!' Ishoku thought as he carelessly dropped his father on the ground and scrambled to run towards the door. 'Why now, of all times…? Maybe they heard all the commotion? Hopefully they saw the culprit!'

Ishoku did not have much to clean up. He just rushed to the door as quickly as possible. It was going to be a quick conversation, and then he would ask them to politely leave the premises.

Ishoku opened the door slightly ajar. He did not want any curious minds to stare into the disaster that surrounded his home. The last thing he needed was unnecessary drama.

There was a girl in front of the door. Ishoku recognized her. She was Mei from his history class. Ishoku knew all of his classmates. He had a really good memory, which allowed him to retain information easily. Just by associating a name with a face, Ishoku could immediately memorize who you were.

"…Um…Uchiha-san…" The girl hesitantly spoke. He could tell that she did not want to be here. He scowled loudly before closing the door on her. Strike what he last said. The _last_ thing that he needed was any unnecessary attention from his school.

He went by to his business. Mei would surely leave when she learned that Ishoku was uninterested in hearing out the girl. He could tell by the way she shivered at his presence, and how she avoided eye contact with him. It wasn't like he wanted to spend any longer than 3 seconds with the girl, either.

Surprisingly, the doorbell rang again. Ishoku ignored the doorbell, continuing to drag his father towards the backyard. The doorbell continued to ring with increasing frequency. Gods, why will this girl not leave Ishoku alone?

When the doorbell proved fruitless, she began slamming her fist on the door. "Ishoku! That was completely rude! Hear out what I have to say!"

Ishoku was irate. Dropping his father's body again, he stormed to the door and opened it furiously.

"WHAT?" He screamed in anger.

Mei flinched in fright. She wasn't expecting that kind of response from Ishoku. The Ishoku she knew was a passive, pacifistic young boy who never displayed any sort of emotion.

"I-I was sent to give you the classwork. You've been absent for an entire week."

"An…entire…week…?" Ishoku stuttered in disbelief.

"Yeah! The teachers were growing worried and—AHHHHHHHHHH!" She suddenly screamed.

"What? What's wrong?" Ishoku asked.

"Y-your eyes…"

"Oh, not this again…" Ishoku said, rolling his eyes. He was going to slam the door on her face again, but she stopped the door with her foot.

"Itai! Uchiha-san, please stop slamming the door on my face!"

"Well I'm sorry if the _demon _has eyes too frightening for your tastes!"

"I know about your weird eyes, you big doofus! It's just that today they were a bit different."

"Different? How so?"

"It's just that…your left eye is usually black, right?"

"Yeah. Your point?"

"Geez, your rude, aren't you?"

"Just get on with your stupid point."

"Well! Your left eye is this really cool red color now!"

"Really…cool?"

"Yeah! And it has these two comma thingies going around your pupil!"

Ishoku thought about what the girl had just said. Red eyes…comma thingies going around the pupil…why did that sound familiar…

The boy.

His eyes were a blood red with three _tomoe _(not comma thingies…baka onna) rotating around the central pupil.

'I…really do have the Sharingan, don't I?' Ishoku thought. 'I guess I really am an Uchiha…too bad that doesn't matter anymore. Will I ever get my black iris back?'

Ishoku covered his Sharingan with his left hand and concentrated. He didn't want to have the Sharingan on forever. Besides, he really liked his eyes, despite what he said about them before. His eyes were each a gift from his parents, and he would value them forever with his life; the one that the boy so _graciously _allowed Ishoku to keep.

"Just ignore the eye." Ishoku said.

"But I think it really looks cool, Uchiha-san!"

"Do…you really?"

"Yeah! I know the others treat you really bad because of your discolored eyes or what not, but I've never said anything bad about you. In fact, I kinda think it looks pretty on you."

"Then…then why don't you say anything?!"

"W-why? Why are you screaming at me like that?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe it's YEARS OF PENT UP RAGE AND AGGRESSION FOR EVERY DAMN PERSON WHO'S TREATED ME LIKE SHIT! And then you come by today and you tell me that you think my eyes are cool! Where were you when I needed you the most? Do you think I just take the shit they throw at me with a smile like some kind of whipped dog? DO YOU?!

"P-please stop screaming, it's not like I had a choice!" Mei cried out. "I was scared! My best friend hates you, and she probably would hate me too if she found out my real feelings! I…I didn't want to be alone…"

"…I-I wouldn't have left you alone. We could have been friends…"

"Uchiha-san, I see what you go through every day. I'm wowed every time I see you come back from one of those beatings, ready for the day's lesson. I'm…I'm not as strong as you. I couldn't handle even a second of that pain…"

"I…I…" Ishoku stuttered. He took into account what Mei was saying. In fact, if he recalled correctly, this would have been the first time he ever considered the feelings of a potential friend. Although the beatings were painful, Ishoku grew accustomed to it. He was able to tolerate the growing pain with ease, and it did not bother him as badly as when they first started happening.

But other kids probably would have cracked to the pressure immediately. Pain makes a superb motivator, and nobody was willing to go through such ordeals (unless they found sexual arousal in such torture. Ishoku always somehow envied those people.) Maybe that's the real reason nobody was willing to rise against the norm and tried to be his friend.

Or people could just be selfish assholes. Either explanation fits the bill perfectly.

"…Don't you have something to give me?"

"Oh, right! I'm sorry, I got caught up in the moment. Here you go…" Just as Mei was about to hand over the lesson plans from the last week, a strange aroma wafted through her nose. "Neh, Uchiha-san, do you smell something?"

'Shit…!' Ishoku thought. He could slam the door on her face, but that already did not work before. He could lie. Yeah, that would work. But what could he lie about…

"I don't smell anything." Ishoku lied. He scratched the back of his head and looked to his right, avoiding Mei's eyes completely. He felt himself heavily perspiring as he dreaded what could result should his lie be caught.

"Maybe it's just my imagination…" Mei said before taking a sniff again. "No!" She quickly covered her nose. "It definwinitely smells in there!"

"No, it's just your imagination! Hey, thanks so much for the papers, I'll totally see you in class tomorrow, don't worry nobody will know what you think okay thanks bye!"

Mei refused to leave now. Ishoku was acting might suspicious, and now she wanted to know what exactly was going on.

"What are you hiding, Uchiha-san?" Mei asked, brows raised in curiosity.

"N-nothing at all!" Ishoku almost screamed. Damn it, how did real shinobi lie through their teeth? This was harder than he thought it would be…

"Uchiha-san, please calm down. Just…take me into the house, I'll see for myself."

"No, you can't come in here! My, uh, my parents!" He hated himself. "Yeah, my parents are uh…having sex?"

Mei blushed horribly after hearing that. "I-Ishoku-san! T-that was totally uncalled for! I-I'm a girl, you know!"

"Is there a problem?" Ishoku asked honestly. "Don't you know that girls and boys have sex? There shouldn't be a problem."

"S-still! You should be more considerate of what you say around people you jerk! Pervert!"

"Yeah…they are busy doing that stuff. They…uh…they are…" 'Please tie a noose over my head' "…they are coprophiles…"

"What does that mean?" Mei asked.

"You don't wanna know…"

"But I wanna know!" Mei insisted.

"You…really don't…" Ishoku's face flushed deeper the longer this conversation lasted. Why couldn't Mei just leave?!

"Ok…" Mei said in defeat. Her shoulders slackened and she began to walk away from Ishoku's house.

Ishoku sighed in relief. Finally…He wiped the sweat on his brow, relieved that the torture was over. He appreciated Mei's sentiments, but absolutely nobody needs to know what happened in—

His thoughts were interrupted when he Mei unexpectedly rammed into him. The force of the tackle was enough to knock the both of them into the house.

"Ouch…" Ishoku said rubbing his head. He hit the floor _hard. _For a second, he swore he could see stares.

"What did you do that for?" Ishoku asked, still unaware of the situation.

Mei just stood there, gaze fixed on the living room. An eerie silence was shared between the two before epiphany hit Ishoku.

She was in the house.

She was staring into the living room.

Shit.

"KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

The scream could be heard for miles.

Ishoku needed to do something. Anything really. Mei could not be allowed to tell anyone else what happened here. Then he really would be killed by an angry mob of blind-sided, ignorant villagers.

"MEI!" He screamed at her, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her around. "Mei, I can explain what happened! Just, calm down and listen to me."

The screaming would not stop. In fact, it was joined by wetworks and chocked sobs. Of course.

The girl could not handle the psychological burden of seeing death. Especially one as bloodied as the scene she was currently witnessing.

Ishoku was desperate. Mei was a liability. She knew too much, and she was creating a humongous ruckus. She needed to be silenced. But how?  
"MEI!" He screamed again. He felt the weird surge of energy again rushing into his left eye. Why now?

As his Sharingan enveloped his black iris, Mei's screams halted abruptly. She no longer was crying uncontrollably, and her entire body stiffened. Her eyes, once fixated at the dreadful murder that was in the living room, now was focused on Ishoku's unique eye.

Ishoku blinked. Mei collapsed on the ground.

"Mei? Mei!" Ishoku said, rushing to her aide. What in the world was going on?

The two tomoe on Ishoku's Sharingan rotated wildly around his pupil, as if yearning for more suffering and despair.


End file.
